Don't ever work for the general public.

I've been running round all day collecting things for WH and delivering them to his work site, actually somewhere he's been before and to where he was bound to return at the end of a warranty period. A builder's life is never simple, particularly when the customer is a prize pratt with obsessive/compulsive disorder and that's just for starters, even his family think he's a nutter. Anyway after delivering a load of insulation to stop his pipes knocking, pipes I hasten to add which were fitted by A N Other and not by us, I then had to deliver 4 cupfuls of cement from another job to fill a minuscule dip in a brick.

I met the depressed painter on that trip, he was tiling under a worktop which you can't see unless you lie on the kitchen floor and crane your head at a very unnatural angle, but hey, the customer is always right and all that, we will do these jobs without charge, with pleasure. By the same token, it gives us untold joy to sand down the underside of a worktop which also can't be seen because it feels rough when you stroke it. WHAT?? WH did say it was because it was cheap, the ones we usually fit are light-years better quality, but that remark, strangely, went unnoticed.

Later on I had a phone call, "Could I just deliver some cups of coffee from the local garage as by 1pm the customer hadn't offered any of the crew a drink." Again their wish was my command and it cost the best part of twenty quid to get coffees and extra cans each for later in the day. By that time WH was in need of paracetamol and luckily I found 4 under the seat in the car, wrapped I hasten to add. As to why they were there at all, it's safer not to ask. Having delivered these, I shot off again quickly, the customer by then peering at me over the top of his pc screen, handily situated right in the centre of the front room window, angry no doubt for distracting the workers for all of thirty seconds.

Just as well I couldn't stay long as the painter was about to tell me about his latest trouble with his mother, she doesn't like the smell of paint in his van. I thought we had problems.

Blog referrals

I can tell from my sitemeter when people read this blog. I can usually tell who they are if they're regulars. I wrote about this before in Absent Friends. I've still got regular lurkers and one in particular who I'm sure I know but they never, ever comment. 18 months of almost daily reading and not a word, zilch. I wonder why they read, it's a bit like looking through someone's window and then scarpering when it is opened. Strange behaviour indeed. Others read and email or chat to me elsewhere so there is no need for immediate comment.

Not that I want loads of comments, I'm almost as bad at replying to them, usually because I find them when I am looking up Something Terribly Important for WH like the size of a roof truss or the price of scalpings. I read the email informing me of a comment and then promptly forget until days later when I then feel really embarassed and real heel for seeming to totally ignore the writer.

The most intriguing things to me about my blog readership at the moment are the strange connections called referrals. I know with a title involving the word straightjacket I get some odd ones, people looking for straightjackets, information about their role in ancient medicine or something and also people looking for those, ahem, dodgy sites where people do strange things with them.

The most bewildering of all however is the fact that almost 20% of referrals are from a Google search of 'carbohydrates and sleep' and relate to a blog I did aeons ago sparked off by some links I had read about between a high intake of carbs and excessive sleepiness. I didn't think it was that revelatory though being my usual ramble about my continuingly odd symptoms. All the sites searching these terms are from the USA. Is it a big deal over there or has someone posted a link to this somewhere else? It's totally baffling to me. Maybe I better have some carbs and sleep through the puzzle.

Ring Ring

I had an engagement ring for Christmas. Not as a prelude to marriage but as a symbol of having been together for almost 17 years, having been through more 'stuff' together than most people cope with in a lifetime, and desperately trying to get this house move sorted and other things sorted and finally, actually, be in the same place at the same time for longer than a few hours. Well, we picked it out and bought it at the beginning of December and it was all boxed up and lovingly gift wrapped by the shop and I opened it on Christmas Day and out fell loads of little sparkly, glittery things and ribbons and it was lovely and I showed everyone 'cos I'm really not a very 'ringy' person and this one is just, exactly, me.

It felt a little on the large side when I wore it and it was definitely looser than it had been in the shop. On Boxing Day I lost it for 2 hours in the garage sorting some books. I was a miserable wreck when WH returned from wherever he had been and together we went back into the garage and he wasn't a bit cross and was very calm and found it and said it was only a ring and if the worst came to the worst he'd buy me another one. Panic over.

Since then I have lost it numerous times and it has become looser and looser. Eventually after losing it in the vegetable box 3 times in one day I bought a tacky, chain store, little ring to keep it on.

Today we took it back to the shop where we bought it originally to get it made smaller. The good news is that since December my ring size has gone down by 3 just like the rest of me. The bad news is that it may be too much to alter and would affect the setting and the stones. It has now gone to the goldsmith to decide if he can do it or not. If not it looks like I'll be buying myself a replacement.

But like I said on Boxing Day the first time I lost it, I don't want another one, I want the original. It was great deciding to get it, going in the shop together and trying it on and then keeping it for 3 weeks until Christmas Day; another one wouldn't be quite the same. I will have to keep the first one on a chain round my neck I think. As for the shop's other suggestion, part-exchange the first one and get a replacement, forget it, like the man who bought it for me, I want the original, for ever.

Sod's law

Damn, bugger and blast.

I did a lot of packing for the move last week and sorting out WH's house prior to No 1 daughter and family moving in and I thought I pulled something in my stomach as WH handed down some boxes from my loft. The next day there was a distinct ache. A timely visit to the GP confirmed it, my hernia is back. I'm really mad, things were going so well and now I'm back to not exerting myself, no lifting or carrying and being generally careful. Dancing for 2 hours at the Hayseed gig probably didn't help either.

I see the surgeon again on Wednesday and this time I will be begging him to do the 'proper' final stuff with the mesh. After all it's not the NHS and surely if I am paying I can have what I want? Last time I went with his considered opinion that it was not necessary the first time. No of course not, that way you get to pay for 2 operations when the first doesn't hold. Usually I'm moaning about the NHS, this surely makes a change.

I'm going 'Private' again for the same two reasons I did before, far less risk of catching anything with my lack of a decent immune system and the much greater nursing care given as I didn't know exactly how, as a Lymie, I was going to react to surgery. This time there is a third reason, my window of opportunity to have surgery is minuscule, restricted to one convenient week only. So another operation is looming again, hopefully as soon as I can fix it after we return from Denmark in 4 week's time. That would give me 4-5 weeks recovery before the great Corfu Holiday. I need all my strength for that.

Afterwards I had planned a fairly active summer, festivals, craft fairs and the like until August when WH is due to have his shoulder operated on again. He had this done before in 2002 and it wasn't too successful so they're doing something more radical so he can continue to use it. If that works he is scheduled for the second one a few months later. In the intervening time we will most likely decamp to Greece where there will be no temptation for him to use it to any great degree. In any case he has been told he will be off work 3-4 months, not the 6 weeks he managed last time.

Quite where this puts the house move in the scheme of things I'm not sure, I will be out of action for 3-4 months as far as that goes so it looks like WH will be doing it all himself; that's when he's finished the house which for the last 4 months has been a single handed job as it is. We did get rid of the semi-permanent skip last week so that's a start, just a kitchen roof to get on and a kitchen to fit and we might be half-way there.

The arrival in 4 weeks of WH's nephew back from his annual 6 month sojourn in the Far East will give a second pair of experienced and lightening-quick hands. He generally works for us for the other 6 months of each year but has been so busy with other things for 18 months we had to do without our Main Man. His return is eagerly anticipated, not least by me, so WH will no longer feel he is doing the whole kit and caboodle himself.

Sometimes I am really sick of being sick, after 16 years I should have learned it's always two steps forward and one step back.

Strutting our stuff in Stroud

( Picture taken Feb 2008, Borderline London copyright Life in the Straighjacket)

Monday night we travelled to Stroud in Gloucestershire to see Hayseed Dixie live, WH having also seen them the night before in Exeter. 2 gigs on consecutive nights has got to be good going, he's more of a fan than me now.

We knew we’d got the right place when we pulled into the station car-park behind the Imperial Hotel and parked right by JW's famous new bike. After checking out the windows of the Polish deli and Polish restaurant (never knew Stroud was so ethnic) we settled in Wetherspoons on St Patrick’s night to the sound of two Irish guys having an argument and a whole bunch of, you-guessed-it, Poles. Shortly after the meal arrived we got a first glimpse of JW and Dave-who-does-our-sound trying to act all incognito with tweed cap and horn rimmed glasses. We kept our distance but did notice several other ‘fans’ paying homage at the service counter. Jake was spotted having a crafty smoke outside. Time to leave and go suss out the venue. The Subscription Rooms are owned by the local council and are an old fashioned theatre venue with chandeliers, a ballroom and a recent makeover of the bars and cafe area. Huge bouncers in Crombie coats guarded the door and divested us all of any suspicious looking articles, in my case half a (plastic) bottle of water. We wondered what we were in for.

Inside, the clientele seemed to be a mix of the local 'arty' types and yummy mummies attired in Boden and Joules. " A glass of chardonnay I think please, Henry." The men were bank-manager smart in casual mode, cashmere sweaters and cord trousers. Quite odd really. We wondered if they knew what they were in for. One or two broke the mould and looked like the normal Hayseed crowd, if anyone who loves them can be considered normal, a crowd of lads in false beards and cut off dungarees, a handful of bikers and the usual denim/leather clad brigade of lone males with too much hair. Frightened off by the distorted wall of sound which greeted us as Instill started their support set, we retreated to the coffee bar which declined to supply us with coffee but appended the statement that if they had known that 600 people would all be wanting coffee they would have switched the machine on. We sat and drank our cokes surrounded by an atmosphere more akin to a school PTA meeting amid cries of "Oh No, they've even got a siren now" and a loud "Ger off,you're crap" in a Brummie accent. At that stage we began to think there was another alternative event going on in the building.

Fortified by the warm coke, again we ascended the stairs for the main event as Instill performed their final number. the applause was lukewarm. The crowd in front of the stage did not seem very interested in any of the music, rather they were keen to seen 'down the front' and were braying to their friends across the room. Trays of pint glasses were placed on the stage and conversation resembled the hunt ball. When the boys came on to tune their instruments there were several loud cheers from the back and the whole hall surged forward in anticipation, displacing the local hoi-polloi with a few real fans.

After the customary 'Hello and Welcome', Kirby Hill got them going properly. The crowd seemed to be Hayseed newbies as very few hands went up when JW asked who had seen them before. The boys were on cracking form though and soon won them over, almost bringing the house down with Holiday about ¾ way through. They appeared to have been injected with speed as they tore through a mix of oldies and No Covers stuff. Dale was doing a great Maori haka for most of the set, his eyeliner even darker then usual; Jake got a load of laughs for fancying the support drummer (really?); and Don-Wayne dedicated his Daddy’s tune to Rachel-at-the-back for the encore. Dale singing 'Sweet Alabam' was just one high point in a set which had all the stomping classics and those of us who knew the words singing along as fast as we could manage which was not fast enough most of the time. A musician friend had told WH that on the Sunday they played at least 200 beats per min and this seemed even faster. After over 90 minutes the show was over.

We had to skip the after gig party at a pub up the road and had to high-tail it back down the M5 to go to an early funeral on Tuesday. No doubt there would be a few sore heads in Stroud that morning. We've just got to wait another few months now for the boys return later in the year as we can't get to any of the other gigs on this tour sensibly, holidays, weekends away and work conspire to prevent us.

A regular visitor

Herbie used to live with me, he shared my bed, cuddled close all night and regularly washed bits of me. He stroked my hair, sucked my ears and told me he loved me. One day he ran away and went to live with someone else. That was 5 years ago and now he's back, over the road with my neighbour.

He came into my life about 10 years ago, one hot summer day when the back door was open we saw this little face and two black ears peeping over the threshold. When he was noticed he slunk back down and just two tiny ear-tips remained in view. After that evening the little kitten became a regular visitor. Where he had come from no-one knew. My then neighbour, a merchant seaman, was home on extended leave and somehow this kitten managed to climb through the open kitchen window, scale the stairs and sleep on his bed. He was very hungry and the neighbour would walk down to the village shop and get a tin of corned beef to feed him. After a month or so of this I was asked why I wasn't feeding my new cat. "I haven't got one," I retorted. I suggested cat-food would be more appropriate, the neighbour had never thought of that. Another neighbour, also a single chap, had been sleeping with his patio door open due to the heat, every morning when he awoke, the kitten was curled up around his head. He hated cats and tried to get rid of him but still he came. Eventually the general consensus was that I, as the owner of 3 cats already, should adopt him. He needed food, vast quantities, he was too tiny to be out and about on his own and above all he needed somewhere safe to sleep. My other cats protested but really he was just too small to make much of a fuss of so they gave in and just let him be.

Very quickly we named him Herbie, he was a right Herbert, always into something, determined, courageous, and a real fighter. The merchant sailor neighbour returned to sea, only after making me promise I would always look after Herbie. Something about that kitten had struck a chord in his heart and he wanted to know he would be cared for. It was a strange conversation with a totally unsentimental, macho-man. It was the last time I would speak to him, he died 5 days later of a massive brain haemorrhage in the South China Sea, too far from land to be able to get him treatment. He was 42. I lost one of my best friends and Herbie lost his protector.

And so it seemed that Herbie had been given to me for some reason. Shortly after that he started disappearing. The first time was for a couple of days and he came back with a collar which he hated. He spent 5 hours trying to remove it until he got it stuck over his teeth and I had to finish the job. I realised he must have been going somewhere else. To cut a very long story short we discovered he really belonged to the house immediately behind mine even although the owners had initially denied it. He didn't like their dogs and so started a long 2-3 year period where he lived between the two houses. The real owner tried keeping him in, he always escaped. They had him neutered and he came back to me, escaping from their car as they returned from the vet and sleeping off his anaesthetic under my coffee table for 2 days. I tried to give him back but the owners were always out, didn't answer the phone or just said we''ll be round later. They didn't usually bother. They shut him in a shed for 4 days, his cries were driving me to distraction, the owners were away and I was on the point of breaking in when they returned and let him out. I wonder now why I didn't do it straight away. One Christmas, apparently on the vet's advice, they kept him in for 6 weeks. I was frantic. I didn't know where he was, the owners again denied they had seen him. I put up posters all round the village and had several false sightings. Oh lots of people knew him but no-one had actually seen him recently. I was quite sick at the time and very depressed. I was cold at night, my furry hot-water-bottle was missing. I went to the surgery for a blood test early one Monday morning. Imagine my delight when he was sitting on my front window on my return. I later found out he had once again escaped. At this point the owners gave up and subsequently moved house, leaving him and a dog behind. The dog was taken in by neighbours, Herbie remained with me.

At night he slept with me, down under the bedclothes, a furry, warm bag of obliviousness which I could mould into whatever shape I liked and he would never wake up. I had to stroke his head, then he would wash my knee, then came a big sigh and clunk he was fast asleep until morning. He sucked my ears and chewed my hair, he like to lick my scalp. I tried to stop him and consulted our vet. They suspected he had been taken from his mother too soon and I was a comfort. I explained the problems with his real owners and that he just didn't wouldn't stay with them. Even when I handed him back over the fence he had come straight back again. The vet decided he just needed me and wanted to be with me instead. It was just his way.

The wanderings continued, Herbie was seen in other parts of the village, at the shop, on the recreation field and in other houses. He had regular route, across the road, play under the pampas grass, down another road, cross the main road, visit a house near the shop, cross a field, visit an old lady in a bungalow, round the bungalow estate, cross the main road again, visit another house by a stream, slip under my opposite neighbours fence, go under her gate and be back out at the front of my place. It took all day. He left on his rounds at about 10 after a late breakfast and returned at 5 for tea. All this after his first walk of the day with a lady round the corner and her cat-friendly collie. Herbie would race out at 6, meet this lady at the end of the road, walk about 400 yards and then return for a quick snooze before breakfast.

Then came the day a feral cat had six sickly kittens at the top of the garden. We took them in and eventually nursed them back to health, keeping the two worst, Misty and Nelson. This was too much for Herbie and he left home when the kittens were only 5 weeks old and still living in the garden, he had been betrayed. He still walked his daily route, now including 10 minutes or so at the front of here, sitting staring up at the windows in disgust. If we went out to speak or to stroke him he tried to bite us and spat. He spent 18 months living near the shop, where we don't quite know. Then he moved again and lived with an elderly couple about 300 yards away from here, one of the houses he had always visited. He took over, slept in their bed to the point of lying full length on the chap's stomach with a paw on either shoulder. Just after Christmas the lady of the household went into hospital. Another betrayal, so now Herbie is over the road at my opposite neighbour's most of the day and night. He doesn't like their cat's prescription cat food so eats elsewhere but otherwise has made himself at home yet again, sleeping alongside her disabled husband in his downstairs bedroom and keeping his back warm at night. Yesterday morning I opened my curtains to see him sitting on her window cill.

He's been getting a bit friendlier again recently and I have stroked him a few times although I wouldn't pick him up. He's a big strong cat now, twice the size of when he lived here. I still miss him at night, no other cat has come so close and been quite so trusting. He still misses me too I'm sure if I see him outdoors he keeps watching for ages and will follow me from a distance. Occasionally he will come round the back and just look until he realises he has been seen, then he runs off. I wonder if he will ever come back, I like to think that one day he might and his wanderings will turn full circle.

The end of the Lyme

A couple of weeks ago I took myself off to see my Lovely Lyme Doc (LLD) in another part of the country. Alone. This in itself was a novelty, it was to be the furthest I have driven alone for 15 months. I took it slowly, arrived in time to have lunch in a wonderful cafe nearby and stock up at the Indian food shop around the corner. Thus fortified I sallied forth into the consulting rooms.

Apart from having a slight performance removing my clumpy, ankle-high walking boots, the consultation went very well. So well I had to stop and pinch myself afterwards to make sure I wasn't dreaming, and celebrate in style with the worst plate of supermarket fish and chips I had ever eaten. That brought me back to reality.

In a nutshell I am improving, vastly and quickly now too, every day brings some new realisation or surge of energy. A greater improvement than the LLD had dared hope and certainly better than I had ever dreamed about. I'm losing weight too, freed as I am of some of the medications that have coaxed me into life the last 16 years, and which I KNEW were causing me to gain and then retain weight. The end is beginning to be in sight. I remain on the treatment until May, when the sun and our family holiday in Corfu will pose problems anyway. This time it will be different however, I won't re-start unless I start to experience severe symptoms again, in which case I'll be racing back to LLD and begging for more antibiotics.

How long this break will be is unknown, it could be weeks or even months before those little hidden bugs come creeping out of their hiding places and make their presence felt. The worst case scenario is that after 4 weeks I will be sick again as I was after last year's holiday, the best case is that I remain well indefinitely, in which case we will know that all those horrid spirochetes have been zapped into oblivion.

Some of the symptoms will never completely go; WH asked LLD last visit what the prognosis was and was told a 95% recovery was possible in theory. This passage from Todors Online Journal of Bacteriology explains why:

Several antibiotics are effective in the treatment of Lyme disease. The present
drug of choice is doxycycline, a semisynthetic derivative of tetracycline. Even
patients who are treated in later stages of the disease respond well to
antibiotics. In a few patients who are treated for Lyme disease, symptoms of
persisting infection may continue or recur, making additional antibiotic
treatment necessary. Varying degrees of permanent damage to joints or the
nervous system can develop in patients with late chronic Lyme disease. Typically
these are patients in whom Lyme disease was unrecognized in the early stages or
for whom the initial treatment was unsuccessful.

My GP remains supportive even though she is not allowed to prescribe my treatment on the NHS. Odd really, as she can see that I am so much better than I was 12 months ago. Thank goodness I found out the real cause of my illness when I did. The state I was in last year leads to me think that by now I might not have been around.

Who cares about the odd 5%? You've got to agree, 95% of life is a much better prognosis than none at all.

Some good things happened this week

1. I had a lovely card for Mother's Day from youngest step-daughter. That will be the 18th year running I got something from her. Usually hand made but sometimes like this one a really lovely 'bought' one with lovely words.

2. Took Grandaughter aged 4 into the village shop and she was asked what she had been doing at Play School. 'Oh I don't go there any more' she said 'I've got the Chicky Spots' and proceded to pull up her jumper to show everyone.

3. The first flowers are out on my Akebia. Spring is definitely just around the corner even though we had a blizzard on Monday, for 10 minutes.

4. Went to the dentist and for the first time ever, I didn't have to have anything done. The Lyme treatment has improved my horrid teeth too.

5. The dentist thought I looked a lot fitter too and said so.

6. Was promised some (free) tickets for Chelsea Flower Show again from one of our suppliers. Thank You so much.

7. I have now lost almost 2 stones in weight since mid-December. My GP prefers kgs but somehow I know where I am with pounds and stones. Either way it's good.